Upside Down in Venice
by funtime vash
Summary: The amusing, romantic, and tragic tale of how the Doctor came to owe Casanova a chicken. Part 2 of the Fitzverse.
1. Chapter 1: A Little Misunderstanding

Part two of the Fitzverse, a novel-length series of linked stories following the complicated life of Eighth Doctor companion Fitz Kreiner. The first story in the series is This Tangled TARDIS, which you can find under my profile, along with the rest of the Fitzverse.

After watching David Tennant in Casanova, I was inspired to write this! Because David Tennant kissing Paul McGann kissing Matt Di Angelo is sexy beyond all comprehension. Fair warning, this story is incredibly slashy and contains massive amounts of fluff, wonderful instances of sexy sex, and a fair share of pain and tragedy. Because that's what Casanova and the Eighth Doctor have in common. No need to read the Eight Doctor Adventures novels, as I have woven any pertinent info into the story, but contact me if you'd like to because they are brilliant.

The title is from a song Fitz sings in EarthWorld. There's no official lyrics, but lucia_tanaka came up with some great ones in her fic Come to Me with Remedies, which I will shamelessly plug because it is beautiful and tragic and everything I love. It's on Dreamwidth, and I highly suggest you read it. Nothing to do with the EDAs, it's just a very sweet, very domestic, alternate universe story about Fitz and the Doctor falling in love.

Further inspiration for this fic comes from Paul Magrs' beautiful audio The Stones of Venice, which this doesn't reference at all except in that Eight goes off on these tangents about why he loves Venice so much. And of course from the Eleventh Doctor episode The Vampires of Venice, in which Eleven recalls the aforementioned chicken which he owes Casanova.

* * *

**Chapter 1: A Little Misunderstanding**

* * *

The Doctor watched him, wearing a coy little smile. How the hell did he always manage to look so bloody gorgeous in the mornings, especially considering he slept so little? Fitz could never understand it.

For his part, Fitz felt as though something had crawled into his mouth and died at some point in the night, he was certain his unkempt hair was sticking up in all directions, and all he wanted to do was escape and take a long, satisfying piss. And maybe brush his teeth afterwards.

But the Doctor was trailing the tips of his cool, slender fingers across Fitz's bare torso. It was damn distracting.

"Morning, you," the Doctor said in a rather flirty voice.

"It's too bloody early," Fitz said, tempted to turn around and pull the blanket over his head, but dissuaded by those long, delicate hands.

"Oh, come on, the morning's the best part of the day!" the Doctor pouted.

Fitz guessed it couldn't be all bad if it meant waking up to the Doctor in one of his chipper moods. After they'd both woken up bloody and bruised as if from a nightmare, the Doctor had refused to talk about what might or might not have happened. Instead, he'd taken to brooding in the quiet corners of the TARDIS for weeks now. Fitz had begun to hate the sound of him and that bloody violin. The devastating sadness of the music that drifted through the TARDIS while he played had left Fitz weeping on more than one occasion. It was almost enough to make him consider suggesting they pick up Compassion from her little "exploration of her inner humanity," as the Doctor put it. Almost, but not quite.

And of course, a distant, moody Doctor definitely put a damper on his sex life. Until Fitz finally had the bright idea to drag him on a picnic in the butterfly room, and after playing him a few new songs, and plying him with several bottles of champagne, the Doctor had ultimately succumbed to Fitz's irresistible charms.

Hence his own nearly crippling hangover and the Doctor's infuriating cheerfulness were somewhat mollified by the wonderful memory of shagging his best friend over and over again while he repeatedly chanted the name Fitz like a mantra. One of the many Doctorish habits that Fitz found consistently endearing.

Fitz finally smiled back at the Doctor, which he seemed to take as an invitation to trail tender little kisses all over his face, and down his neck. By the time that teasing, playful mouth reached his chest, Fitz had forgotten about his hangover.

"Mhmm," he moaned, running a hand through the Doctor's soft, bouncy curls. His perfect chestnut hair always made Fitz feel like the before shot in a shampoo commercial. Which was ironic, considering they usually used the same shampoo.

The Doctor traced his cool, wet tongue over Fitz's erection. He gasped, shuddering with pleasure. Then, to his utter disappointment, the Doctor suddenly sat up and grabbed Fitz's shoulders.

"Bloody tease," Fitz muttered.

"You know..." he began, all smiles and excited. "Last night I realized that we've never been to Venice together!"

And before he knew it, Fitz and the Doctor were scrubbed and clean and dressed for the era in velvet and silks. Well, Fitz was, the Doctor always dressed like a Victorian prat so he fit in as usual. But he did tie his long hair up in a little ponytail with some black string.

After drinking some strong, sweet coffee and consuming more fancy pastries with names he couldn't properly pronounce than was absolutely wise in a city where the main form of transportation involved wobbly little boats, Fitz and the Doctor were relaxing, casually arm in arm, as a gondolier maneuvered them through the narrow, crowded canals. Fitz was having a hell of a good time.

"So where are we going?" Fitz asked, and sighed with something approaching content.

"Metaphorically or geographically?"

Fitz chuckled. "Philosophically, of course!"

"Lunch," the Doctor said distantly, with a sad little smile. "Romana once asked me that..."

Fitz let him trail off, knowing from long experience that nothing good ever came of questioning him when he spoke with that melancholy sort of wistfulness in his voice.

A streak of red coat caught Fitz's eye – a tall, skinny bloke running across one of the ubiquitous narrow bridges that passed overhead. With a shock, he realized the man had suddenly leaped through the air, a manic smile on his face.

Laughing.

He landed shakily on his feet at the edge of the gondola, grinning like a moron, his huge blue eyes darting from Fitz, to the Doctor, to the increasingly agitated Gondola driver. His long silk jacket was finely embroidered, the high silver waistcoat intricately worked with tiny glass beads, his burgundy and black cravat tied in a little bow, with a high-collared black shirt ending in long frills that trailed over his hands. Poncey in a beautiful way.

"Hello, gentlemen, I imagine that you'd be understandably upset by my sudden arrival, but I can only beg your compassion, as I seem to have upset a local innkeeper over a little misunderstanding regarding his daughter," he said in a great rush of words. "And possibly his wife."

"No, not at all," the Doctor said, extremely amused.

"I am most gracious for your kindness!" he replied, dropped to the bottom of the gondola, and hid under his red coat.

And that was how the Doctor and Fitz met Giacoma Casanova.

* * *

Venice. The Doctor had always loved Venice. Impossible, preposterous, beautiful, sinister Venice. Decaying from the moment it was built. Sinking deeper into the water year by year, kept alive for centuries on the promise of memory and romance alone.

Reminded him of himself in this incarnation.

He touched the worn grey stone, trailing his hands over the bumpy surface, practically tasting the history pouring from every molecule. Glorious.

Night had begun to fall, staining the city red. It almost seemed like the canals were suddenly running with blood, reflecting the sunset on and on through the desolate side streets they were currently prowling.

Just ahead of him walked the human being he had recently fallen so desperately in love with, and another human being who's memoirs took up an entire shelf of his library. Original additions he'd carefully collected across several lifetimes. An adventurer, a rebel, and a charlatan with an almost mystical understanding of the human condition. And someone he'd always wanted to meet.

Fitz and Giac seemed to be getting along perfectly, but then, Fitz always made friends so easily. He smiled at the sudden burst of affection he felt. Then he stepped forward and placed an arm on each of their shoulders.

"So, are you two still planning on gambling the night away?" the Doctor asked in an indulgent tone.

"Yeah, we're supposed to be meeting his mate Rocco at this card game in the basement of some theater."

"That sounds absolutely lovely! Which one? I hope we'll be in time to catch a performance."

"Never fear, my friend, the evenings run late at the Teatro San Cassiano," Giac said, matching the Doctor's wide, excited grin.

The Doctor actually squealed and clapped his hands, dashing ahead only to spin around and face them, taking a few steps backwards as he spoke. "What are we waiting for? Come on, you two! Adventure awaits!"

It was an incredible experience — enjoying an original opera by an obscure composer he'd never heard of, holding hands with Fitz in the darkened theater, snickering at the droll comments Giac kept whispering in their ears. Afterwards, they joined the cast at a party in one of the basements, surrounded by costumes, the dank smell of the water lapping just below drifting through the air. Musicians played impromptu performances just for the sheer joy of it. Wine and liquor flowed freely, the spread of appetizers was absolutely tantalizing, and yes, at the corner they found Rocco at a table playing cards.

As Fitz proceeded to get quite drunk and flirt with every single actress and musician, the Doctor played several rounds of faro and handily won all of Giac's money.

"It seems your reputation as a gambler has been quite exaggerated," the Doctor said mildly as Rocco teased Giac about his many losses that evening.

"Yeah, there's a lot about Giac that get exaggerated," Rocco said with a laugh.

The party had begun to wind down, just a dozen people drifting around lazily, drinking, playing quinze, chatting amiably as a single cellist improvised a slow song. Fitz sat with a girl in the corner, slouching, smoking a cigarette. A beautiful anachronism, wherever he went. He loved that about him.

"Yes, well, you wouldn't be the first person to become more charming in the retelling," the Doctor said absently, still watching Fitz with a little smile.

"How dare you!" Giac said with mock affront. "I'll have you know that the tales spread far and wide about my wit and charm are all quite true. Very few can resist me."

The Doctor rolled his eyes and looked back at Giac, pursing his lips for a moment before he spoke. "I can think of one, at least," the Doctor replied.

"Oh, I can seduce anybody," Giac said rather smugly, gesturing with his hands. "A natural gift, you see? An excess of charisma. Quite out of my control, it simply emanates from me."

And he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the Doctor's thighs for a moment. "I'd wager even you couldn't resist me if I made the effort. In fact, I'd gladly place a bet on it."

"Well, what would you have to bet me with? I believe I've already won all your money."

"Rocco?" Giac said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Rocco gave Giac an exasperated look. "You already owe me 18 zecchini."

Giac have an exaggerated, pained hiss. "Bollocks. That much?"

He shrugged, and chuckled.

"Well, let's see..." Giac began. "Now, what exactly do I have that I could offer a gentlemen such as yourself?"

The Doctor laughed, "I wouldn't exactly be a gentleman if I excepted such a scandalous wager at all!"

Fitz returned at that moment, and handed the Doctor a snifter of amaretto as he downed half of his drink in one gulp. "A scandalous bet? Count me in."

"I'm afraid dear Giac doesn't have anything to bet with," the Doctor said, suddenly unsure of exactly what he was getting them into.

He idly wondered if Fitz had thought to bring his wallet, into which the Doctor usually slipped a few condoms as a general rule, due to the high probability that his philandering lover might find himself in one amorous encounter or another during their various adventures. Then he remembered a panel from Histoire de Ma Vie showcasing Giacoma Casanova and a friend blowing up condoms like they were balloons as three ladies in various stages of undress watched on in amusement. And he began to giggle so hard he practically fell off the chair.

"Don't tell me you're drunk," Fitz said, catching the Doctor's drink with surprising dexterity, considering how much he was slurring his words.

The Doctor didn't quite end up on the floor as he tried to control his giggles, but it was a very close thing.

"Oh! I just remembered!" Giac exclaimed, turning to his friend with a smile. "Rocco, do we still have that chicken the Widow Battargia sent us the other day?"

"The live chicken that I told you I'd kill if it woke me up just one more time?"

"That's the one!"

The Doctor almost fell out of his chair laughing again, barely managing to speak. "You want to wager a chicken on my capacity for sexual restraint!?"

Fitz, who had been in the middle of draining his amaretto, spluttered liquor all over himself.


	2. Chapter 2: The Sort of Music You Play

Warning! There is quite a lot of very sexy sex all over this chapter. And maybe a saucy duet.

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Sort of Music You Play**

* * *

After enjoying a long, wonderful party with pretty girls and live music, Fitz was drunk. Perfectly, gorgeously, out of his head. In Venice. And the Doctor was flirting with Giacomo Casanova.

Fitz was trying not to feel weird about it. Although he couldn't figure out why it suddenly felt like such an effort. The Doctor was always a flirt, of course, in that charmingly oblivious way he had, and Fitz, the chivalrous pervert, was in no position to talk. They had a deal, an understanding. As the Doctor put it at the time, "I'd never want to cage you."

He just hadn't realized until now that meant both ways. And yeah, they'd already shagged a few people together, but that had been different. Fitz had wanted it, had instigated it, had always assumed the Doctor was merely indulging him by making his impossible adolescent fantasies come true. Suddenly the idea that the Doctor could be seriously attracted to someone else was really hitting home, and Fitz felt a lot less special.

But it definitely wasn't because he felt jealous. Definitely, absolutely, no bloody way.

He could count on one hand the number of blokes he'd shagged, and on maybe two the number he'd even seriously fancied, whether he'd admitted it to himself at the time or not. And considering he fancied practically every girl he'd ever met, that was saying a lot. But this Casanova guy, there was something to him. Something magical. And the Doctor had noticed.

All right, yeah. So maybe he was a little jealous.

He distracted himself by staring at the city at night. Even this late, light spilled from many of the windows, onto the streets. Reflecting off the canals, like stars spread across the water.

He noticed a shadow on the other side of the canal, something moving quick down the alley. He had enough experience with trouble to recognize it in an instant. "Doctor," he said in a serious tone.

The Doctor turned to him instantly, following where he was pointing. "That looks like blood," the Doctor said.

A scream echoed.

"Come on!" the Doctor said, and ran over to the next bridge in an instant, Fitz, Giac, and Rocco following in his wake.

Fitz felt in his element, dashing off after the Doctor on some mad rescue mission. He actually laughed, running through Venice at night. Blood on the streets and the Doctor at his side. Trying not to think about the fact that disaster and danger had come to feel so disturbingly familiar.

They came to a skidding stop at an intersection, the Doctor shushing them as they approached.

In the distance, Fitz saw a creature. At least, it couldn't have been anything human. It stood on four legs, and Fitz thought he saw dark fur and scales, but it was so dark he couldn't be sure.

The Doctor began to approach it, Fitz following close behind.

"Are you mad?" hissed Rocco, hiding behind the bend in the street.

"Yeah," Fitz whispered. "But we have lots of experience with madness."

The Doctor shushed him, but it was too late. The creature had spotted them. It looked up, six red eyes blinking, then with a cross between a yowl and a screech, it leaped into the canal and disappeared.

"Magnificent," the Doctor sighed, staring at the still water that left no sign of the monster lurking in its depths.

"What was it?" Fitz asked.

"You know, I have no idea," the Doctor replied, smiling up at Fitz. "I love it when that happens."

"Do you love it when this happens as well?" Rocco asked from behind them, sounding grim.

Fitz and the Doctor turned around to see Giac bent over a figure hidden in the shadows. "He's dead," he said, sounding horrified.

Just then, they heard a clatter of boots, the murmur of angry voices.

"It's the night guard!" Rocco said, and grabbed Giac's hand. "Run!"

The Doctor lingered for a moment over the body, a young bloke, maybe in his 20s, his fine satin clothes soaked red. The Doctor closed the dead man's eyes, then stood up.

"We have to stop it, of course," the Doctor remarked, rather casually considering the situation.

The guards clattered down the street, holding lanterns aloft.

"Doctor," Fitz warned.

"Yes, I do believe a hasty retreat might be the best option," he said, shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

Fitz took the Doctor's hand, and together they fled into the night.

* * *

Giac's flat reminded the Doctor of Venice itself—utterly romantic, and falling apart. He absolutely loved it. It felt cramped and cluttered, the walls draped in moth-eaten velvet, with the smell of the tannery below subtly permeating the air, merging with the ever-present scent of candles and canals. It was a decedent sort of chaos, the shelves crammed with books on every topic, in three different languages, alongside curious mystical talismans and what looked like a rather complicated chemistry set. A desk was stacked with even more books and curios, as well as a dusty viola, an immaculately maintained violin, and an old, battered lute.

Of course. He'd almost forgotten about Casanova's years as a musician. Had they already happened for him? Had he already burned his bridges, on the verge of being imprisoned, then exiled. Or was he still new, everything ahead of him? Still defining himself, still coming to terms with his own curious blend of touching morality and shameless debauchery? The gambler who would just as easily lie, cheat, and steal, as he could save the life of an innocent or rescue a lady in distress. A brilliant man with an incredible memory, and more than that, an incredible capacity for lust, love, and above all observing and understanding the intricacies of the human condition. No wonder the Doctor had always considered him such a fascinating character.

They'd stumbled into the flat after a treacherous and breathtaking escape through the gorgeous wonderland that was Venice at night. Giac immediately began pouring the wine, in reverence for the fallen man, he explained in a grim tone. Fitz, of course, went directly for the lute, sitting on the shabby purple chaise lounge to pick out a few notes. The Doctor smiled at him fondly.

"Always wanted one of these," Fitz said, casually improvising a simple, evocative melody. "Music store down the street from my old flat in London had a couple, and I'd come by in the afternoons to play until they kicked me out."

"A man is dead," Giac said darkly. "Tonight. He died just minutes before we found him. Still warm. And the two of you don't seem affected in the slightest."

Fitz and the Doctor exchanged a worried look. He kept playing, though. And bit his lip. A nervous habit of his.

"Giac..." Rocco began.

"No, I mean just look at them," Giac told Rocco harshly. "They seem more worried about the fact that I just brought it up than they were after stumbling across his still-warm corpse."

The Doctor sighed, sitting next to Giac. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "It's just... We've seen more death than you could possibly imagine."

Giac looked aghast.

"They're soldiers," Rocco said in an even tone. "I could tell right away."

"We're travelers," the Doctor said. "We right wrongs, stop injustice, preserve history. And along the way, yes. We've taken lives. We've lost many people we've cared about. But we haven't forgotten, Giac. There's a horror loose in Venice. And before we go, I promise, we will make your city safe again."

Giac sighed. "I'm sorry. Perhaps I've judged you too harshly."

"Even good men can become accustomed to horror, Giac," Rocco said, standing up. "Did I ever tell you I was a soldier once?"

Giac looked at Rocco, tilting his head to the side curiously. "I didn't know. I suppose I did attempt to live the life of an officer once, but I could never be a soldier."

"We all have hidden depths, my friend," Rocco replied. "Even you."

"Especially you," the Doctor said, smiling and laying an arm across Giac's shoulder.

"It's late," Rocco said with a sigh. "And I think it's time I went to bed."

The Doctor stood up and gave Rocco a hug, which he returned with a startled laugh. "It's been such a pleasure meeting you, Rocco! You take such good care of him, don't you?"

Rocco pulled away, wearing a lopsided grin. "Yeah, well, someone's got to."

"No, no, they don't," the Doctor said very seriously, laying a hand on his shoulder. "But you do anyway. I'm sure he's truly grateful."

He could sense Rocco blush, even with his dark skin. "Good night. It's been a pleasure meeting both of you. Please don't give him another chicken. Having one is bad enough, the fool refuses to let me cook it. Says it's his mascot."

They all laughed, and Fitz bade Rocco goodnight, continuing to pluck the lute absently.

And then there were three.

"I'll just get some more wine," Giac said, sounding suddenly nervous.

The Doctor joined Fitz on the chaise, and had a sudden urge to kiss him. So he did. A tender gesture, full of affection. Fitz finally stopped playing.

Giac swallowed loudly and cleared his throat, joining them to place three glasses of dark red wine on the desk. The Doctor pulled away from Fitz, who gave him a rather longing look, and picked up the viola, blowing the dust away.

"You play?" the Doctor asked, already knowing the answer.

"Prefer the violin," Giac replied, then swallowed half his wine in a gulp.

The Doctor took out his handkerchief and carefully wiped the viola clean, checked that the bow was still in good shape, and started to tune. "Seems a shame to let such a lovely instrument go unused."

Giac shrugged. The Doctor gave him a charming smile, then began to play, a long complex melody, deep, teasing and sensual. Fitz joined him, and it was wonderful. He always loved playing with Fitz. He started simple, soft, as though merely keeping the Doctor's notes company, but before long their music became a dance, giving and taking, passing along the tune from one to the other, complexity upon complexity, until it almost felt like making love.

As their improvised song came to a slow end, the Doctor finally looked up at Giac and smiled. He was watching them, open-mouthed.

"That was beautiful," Giac whispered.

"We've played together many times," the Doctor said in a flirty tone that let him know it was more than music he and Fitz played.

"I've never..." Giac stammered. "I've never played the sort of music you play, I think."

The Doctor put down the viola and reached out his hand. "Would you like to join us?"

Giac nodded.

He kissed him, standing on his tiptoes to reach the taller man's lips. Giac hesitated at first, as though unsure of himself, unsure of what he wanted. But when the Doctor ran his cool, wet tongue across his lips, Giac opened his mouth, and the Doctor slipped inside, tasting him, suddenly overcome with desire, running his hands over the other man's body, pulling off his red coat, tearing the buttons from his fine embroidered waistcoat. Wanting to feel Giac's human warmth against his skin.

The Doctor tumbled back onto the chaise, dragging Giac with him, into Fitz's arms. He turned to kiss Fitz, his love, who in the past year had awakened in him a desperate sort of lust the Doctor sometimes feared would one day burn them both to ashes.

Fitz accepted the kiss gratefully, with longing, nibbling the bottom of the Doctor's lip when he pulled away. And then Giac was kissing both of them, the three of them entangled in an endless caress, hands moving of their own accord, tearing clothes away, lost in each other.

The Doctor wanted them both desperately, wanted to feel them, to taste them, to touch their minds and their bodies, these beautiful humans who inspired him so much.

He pulled away, panting. "Giac," he said, unable to keep his voice from trembling. "Giac, there's something I need to tell you. If you want this, if you really want to join us."

Giac disentangled himself from Fitz's embrace, his breath harsh and ragged. "Go on. Tell me your big secret."

"I'm not like anyone you've ever met, Giac," he said, removing his shirt completely.

The Doctor took Giac's hand, placed it first on one side of his chest, then the other. Giac yanked his hand away as if burned.

"What?"

He smiled, and Fitz chukled, draping an arm casually against Giac's bare shoulders. "Trust me, mate, that's just the start," Fitz said, and nuzzled his neck, trailing a few kisses.

The Doctor cupped Giac's face, letting a finger linger casually against his temple. And he pushed, just a little, letting slip just the barest hint of his desire, of his admiration.

Giac gasped, and curved into his touch. "You're a mystic!" he whispered, sounding awed. "A true mystic..."

He laughed. "I suppose I am at that. But I promise I'll only see what you want me to. The part of you that opens up to my caress."

And then the Doctor removed the rest of Fitz's clothes, desperate for the familiar feel of his lover's skin, slipping into his mind with practiced ease. As usual, Fitz left himself completely open. Every flaw, and every strength, and everything in between, every fantasy, and fear. Everything that made him Fitz. No barriers, no secrets, just absolute trust. Such a rare gift, one he hoped he'd never lose. But knew inevitably that he would.

At the moment, whatever darkness his future held mattered very little as Giac kissed his neck, cautiously moved his hands over the Doctor's smooth body. Still so young, so inexperienced. He'd never played with men, not yet, but the Doctor knew his future. Had read his memoirs many times. If he and Fitz were to be the first, they wouldn't be the last, and realizing he was about to introduce the one and only Giacomo Casanova to a whole new world of pleasures gave the Doctor a giddy thrill.

He turned away from both of them, standing up to remove the rest of his clothes. Then the Doctor reached out both hands and led them to the bed.

Fitz pushed him down playfully, running rough, guitar-calloused hands up and down his body. The Doctor moaned at the familiar sensation, curling into his touch like a cat. Giac kissed him, then Fitz kissed both of them, all three of them entangled until the Doctor could no longer tell which was which.

He touched their minds, almost overwhelmed by the raw need, the desire. The lust they each felt for him, and for each other. The Doctor let himself go, in awe of their pleasure.

They took turns, at first. Taking him, penetrating him, one at a time, then both at once, Fitz in his mouth, down his throat, tasting him as Giac thrust deep inside of him. Feeling two hot, moist tongues running up against his own erection, kissing each other at the same time, until he felt his body warm and glowing and released in an endless orgasm over their beatific faces. Lying between them, inside of Fitz's mouth as Giac took him once more from behind, insatiable, ready to go again and again. Between both of their warm, sweat-slickened bodies, the Doctor lost himself completely. Lost track of time, lost track of who he was, lost track of everything except the rhythm of three people moving together as one. And it was beautiful, just what he needed after months of suffering under the ever-present dread of whatever the future held for him and Fitz and Compassion. The tangled knot of dark possibilities he'd sensed looming in their timelines.

For the first time in so very long, the Doctor existed only in the moment, from one caress to the next. One orgasm to the next. Eyes half closed, muttering in Gallifreyan when he managed to get any words out at all. And they were insatiable, both of them, all of them, again and again, until the first rays of dawn crept in through the window.


	3. Chapter 3: Lust, Instinct, and Passion

**Chapter 3: Lust, Instinct, and Passion**

* * *

The next morning, Fitz woke up with a bastard behind his eyes. The night had been a blur of booze, lust, and sex. They'd gone through all of his condoms, and most of Giac's, and at some point close to dawn he had stirred from a sound sleep to find the Doctor getting shagged in the bed beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Muttering Giac's name over and over again. Insatiable prats.

Fitz knew that shouldn't have bothered him. It wasn't the first time he'd watched the Doctor shag someone else, though at least those times he'd been actively involved. Instead of feeling like some creepy voyeur, staring through half-closed lids, unable to look away but for some reason afraid of letting them know he was watching.

And he realized he was being an utter hypocrite. How many times had the Doctor watched him fall in love with some pretty bird? Without complaint. Shit, at the end of the day it was always the Doctor who helped him get over the inevitable heartbreak.

What a bloody complicated relationship... Still, it was better than what usually happened. Which was him messing everything up by getting drunk and shagging someone else, then lying about it, then getting caught, then promising to never do it again. Then doing it again.

At least this way everything was out in the open.

He sighed and draped an arm over the sleeping form half-hidden under the blankets. It was Giac, he could tell instantly. Which meant the Doctor was nowhere to be found. Fine. Good. He knew how to deal with this. If Giac shagged the Doctor, then all he had to do was shag Giac, and then he wouldn't feel so... Not jealous, definitely not jealous. But something. Just not jealous. Because he refused to admit to that.

And he did fancy Giac. Of course, who wouldn't? Here was a bloke bloody famous for the mere act of shagging anything that moved. And he was damn good at it, too. So Fitz ran his hands over the other man's body, and Giac curled into his touch, still asleep. Fitz was just about to kiss him when he heard the door open.

The Doctor crept into the room and sat down at the edge of the bed, placing a tender kiss on Fitz's temple, oblivious, or unconcerned, that Fitz had been in the middle of seducing another bloke.

"Come on, sleepyhead," he said in that irritatingly cheerful voice he always had in the morning. "Chop chop, things to do. I've been investigating the mysterious disappearances that have plagued Venezia for several months now and—"

"Sod off," Fitz growled.

"Fitz!" the Doctor squeaked, sounding offended.

"It's too early to be so damn cheerful, Doc."

"It's not early at all!" the Doctor argued, placing a hand on Fitz's shoulder. "I've already had breakfast, investigated the scene of last night's mysterious attack, interviewed 12 Venetians who claim to have heard howling in the night—"

Fitz shrugged him away. "I mean it, sod off."

The Doctor swallowed, as though unsure what to say.

With a sigh, Fitz turned to face him. He really did look hurt. And part of Fitz recognized he was being completely unfair. That his reaction at this moment must seem incredibly out of character to the Doctor, who probably took for granted the fact the Fitz usually followed him around like some love-struck teenager.

If anything, that thought only pissed Fitz off even more.

"Just leave me alone, all right?" he snapped, then forced himself to soften his tone. "I'm taking the day off. We'll meet up later, yeah?"

"As you wish," the Doctor replied softly, absolutely crestfallen.

He left the room without another word. Great, now Fitz felt like a bastard who'd just kicked a puppy on top of everything else. To distract himself, he gave Giac a blowjob.

* * *

Venice alone, during the bright, muggy day, seemed ready to crumble into the waters. A gloomy place. Beggars in the alleys, gondoliers shouting at each other. Filth in very corner. Chickens skittering every which way.

That reminded him.

He sighed, and glanced at the indicator he had cobbled together earlier that morning. Alone in the TARDIS. Without Fitz. Which was fine, he told himself. That was fine. Solving a mystery in the most romantic city on Earth. Alone, because his companion preferred to remain in bed with the most famous lover in the history of the human species.

Which was fine, he told himself. Perfectly understandable. To be expected, even. And anyway, he'd brought it on himself, as usual. The Doctor wasn't stupid. Nor was he entirely naive. He realized he'd instigated the entire evening himself, acting rather unusually forward even for this incarnation, who so often let himself be led by lust, instinct, and passion. Rightly or wrongly.

He'd sensed a peculiar possessiveness, even jealousy, in Fitz that had been truly surprising. Quite out of character for him, in fact. And the Doctor had shrugged it off because he was enjoying himself too much at the time to worry about the consequences. How predictable of him these days.

So here was his punishment. No Fitz. Wandering through Venice alone. Searching for a terrible predator from a distant star system that had somehow managed to get lost in one of his favorite cities on Earth.

He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The creature had come from several galaxies away, and his blood chemistry and pheromones were like nothing else on the planet. In the water, it was difficult to track, but if he could figure out its hunting patterns, follow the tracks it had left from its nightly excursions through the alleys, then he could lie in wait until the evening. He could stop the creature, capture it, drop it back off on his home planet. And then maybe by tomorrow he and Fitz could catch a play, perhaps a nice commedia dell'arte. Enjoy a lovely candle lit meal overlooking the Piazza San Marco before heading back to the TARDIS, and off to whatever adventure awaited them next.

"But first thing first," he said aloud, and glanced back down at the tracker.


	4. Chapter 4: He Gets In Trouble

The plot thickens! A bit of a warning from here on out for violence and angst. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 4: He Gets in Trouble

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Fitz and Giac finally stumbled out of bed. At Rocco's insistence, since apparently Giac had a gig playing the violin at some posh party.

Fitz had offered to join in, cause he never turned down a chance to perform, and because it gave him an excuse to avoid thinking about the Doctor for a few more hours.

So the three of them were sitting at a lovely trattoria eating some of the best food Fitz had tasted in a long time, drinking cheap red wine and having a laugh. Fitz really had been enjoying himself, enjoying Venice, when suddenly, out of nowhere, he began to miss the Doctor terribly.

Here he was, wearing fancy borrowed clothes, eating great food with good mates, one who happened to be so bloody famous his name was in the dictionary, getting ready to stay up all night playing music at some classy shindig, and the Doctor was missing all of it. He loved this sort of thing. Instead, Fitz had told him to sod off and right now the Doctor was probably in some alley brooding. Or worse.

Shit, he wouldn't even be here if it weren't for the Doctor. He wouldn't be anywhere, either slogging through a wasted, tedious existence as a loser working at a garden center, or possibly murdered by his own mum and the raving cabal of lunatics that had almost taken over the world before the Doctor showed up and sorted everything out. And taken him away from the remnants of a shattered, ruined life that would probably have ended with Fitz mad or in prison. Probably both.

He sighed and put his head on the table. "I'm an absolute wanker," he muttered, sounding miserable.

"Sounds like a personal problem," Rocco laughed.

"You're telling me," Fitz sighed.

"You're worried about the Doctor," Giac said, placing a hand on Fitz's shoulder.

Fitz looked up and nodded, holding his head up as though afraid he would simply collapse into a little pool of misery without extra the support.

"He's brilliant," Fitz said after another deep, melancholy sigh. "Honestly. Most clever bloke I've ever met. Probably the cleverest person in the whole bloody universe. He's saved it often enough. But when he's on his own..."

"He gets in trouble," Rocco said with a wry grin. "Trust me, I can relate."

* * *

The Doctor sat at the edge of the canal, swinging his legs back and forth. It was dark, save for the light streaming out of a handful of windows. Music drifted vaguely in the air. A lute, maybe a couple of violins, and the high, delicate voice of a castrato singing out into the night. It seemed as if all the stars had been trapped underwater, sunken into the still, black waters of the murky canals stretching off into the distance.

He checked the tracker, then slipped it back into his pocket. Any time now. He pulled out the metallic net he'd brought, and smiled. The dogcatcher of the universe. And the handyman. And anything else it needed, he sometimes thought.

The tracker suddenly started bleeping. He looked down at the small display. The arrow was pointing in the wrong direction.

"You snuck past me!" he shouted, and ran off into the dark.

It was close. He could taste it in the air. Along with the coppery scent of blood.

Glass shattered.

The Doctor ran faster, until he saw it, across the canal, at the end of a T-shaped juncture between ancient houses of the upper class variety. A young girl dressed in pink, her stockinged feet bloodied. As was the rest of her, dripping from the creature's jaws. Jagged metallic teeth tore her shoulder in half. Poisoned teeth.

He was too late. She was probably already dead.

He leapt across the water, net in hand, and missed. Scrambling for the edge, he dropped the net into the canal. His toes touched the water, leaving his socks soaked in the blood warm waters of a hot Venetian summer. He propelled himself forward, leaping over the edge, striking the creature with both his feet, ramming him into the wall of the house. The Doctor overbalanced as he landed and tumbled to the ground.

Broken glass glittered as the lights in the house lit up. Panicked voices began to cry out.

By the time he stood up, he was too late. Far too late already. The creature had swallowed almost everything, leaving only tiny pink stockinged feet dangling out of it's mouth as it gulped the body down centimeter by centimeter. Like a python.

The Doctor suddenly felt very angry.

He grabbed a blade of glass from the cobblestones, ignoring the jagged pain that cut though his hand.

The Doctor lunged forward, leaping onto its back. He was covered in blood, not all of it his own. He reached around and stabbed the creature in the neck, slit its throat. The creature convulsed, knocking him off it's back. Those sharp teeth grazed his torso, tearing into his flesh. Nicking some organ or another. He was too busy trying to coax his body into neutralizing the flood of exotic toxins that had begun to painfully course through his nervous system to pay attention.

The agony felt too great to ignore, and he curled up on the cobblestones, screaming into the night.

He heard the guards coming. Saw the creature stagger and fall, no longer breathing. Dying. As the Doctor himself was dying. The poison felt like a wicked, burning heat, melting him from the inside. In mere days, if not hours, he feared slipping into a healing coma from which he might not ever wake up. Or perhaps he would just regenerate, if he was lucky.

The creature died, slipping from the bank, sliding into the canal, disappearing under the star-scattered waters of Venice.

He sighed with relief. Then he heard footsteps.

Hauling himself up, he began to run. Or stumble, more like it. Dazed. Succumbing to the venom.

He heard a familiar voice.

"Doctor!" he heard Fitz hiss into the darkness. Fitz had fortunately heard his scream enough times to recognize it by now. The Doctor felt quite grateful.

Catching the Doctor in his arms, Fitz laughed with relief. "Where the hell have you been? I've been looking for you since this afternoon."

"Didn't mean to worry you," he muttered, and meant it.

"Doctor..." Fitz gasped, feeling the blood at his side.

The guards were right behind him. The Doctor's relief turned to worry.

"Fitz, you need to get away from here," he said in a broken voice.

"No way! You're coming with me."

"The guards are right behind me. If they find you here, we'll both be caught," the Doctor said, pulling away.

Fitz stepped forward to catch him as he staggered. He'd never be able to escape if he had to carry the Doctor. They had seconds.

The Doctor pushed Fitz away roughly. "Run!" he shouted.

Fitz froze.

"Please," he whispered. "I need to know that you're safe."

"I'll come back for you," Fitz promised.

"I know you will," he panted, ready to collapse.

The lights of the guards' lanterns shone against his back.

"Go!"

Fitz stepped into the shadows, then turned and ran away. The Doctor gratefully passed out.


	5. Chapter 5: Simply In Pain

**Chapter 5: Simply in Pain**

* * *

Fitz felt like absolute shit. He had just left the Doctor to bleed to death while being captured by armed guards. Or perhaps they would torture him to death instead.

He'd messed everything up so badly. So now this trip that the Doctor had been so excited about just yesterday morning had become a bloody nightmare, a rescue mission in the 1700s, by far one of his least favorite time periods.

He definitely didn't cry as he made his way to Giac and Rocco's flat. The only other people he knew on the entire bloody planet at this point in time.

But they weren't home. Of course. It was still early for them. So what next, run back to the TARDIS and hide? Pretend the Doctor wasn't somewhere in the city? Trapped. Injured. Probably dying.

They were his only hope.

He slumped against their door, pulling his knees to his chest. Rocking back and forth. He definitely didn't cry. Not for the first few minutes at least.

* * *

He was in the Piombi, he knew that. Somewhere underneath the lead-lined roof of Doge's Palace. There was venom in his blood, which he was failing to neutralize properly. Simply a matter of time before he succumbed and his respiratory system shut down completely.

And they were whipping him. They kept whipping him. The Doctor could feel rivers of blood pour down his back.

He hated when humans tortured him. What would they say if he told them he'd saved their planet more times than he could remember? That the guard bringing down the steel-tipped whip, shredding his flesh, was only alive because the Doctor had once saved all of his ancestors from destruction? That his descendants would only exist because of the countless sacrifices he had made for them?

With every blow, the world around the Doctor grew red and distant, disconnected, and he didn't know if it was the poison, or the infection he could already feel spreading from his filthy, ragged wounds. The pain screamed through his weakened nervous system. Already absorbed with trying to keep his respiratory system from succumbing to the paralyzing toxins, he had no way of numbing himself to the agony. The actual physical whipping almost paled in comparison. He barely realized when the guard had stopped. Dazed, he couldn't quite make out their questions.

They were telling him that one of the members of the Consiglio was missing a daughter, taken the very night he was found outside her window, covered in blood. He tried to explain that he was sorry, that he'd been too late to save her. But the words all came out wrong, and they beat him. He lost track of time for a while, and not in a good way.

They broke his nose, an eye socket, and possibly his jaw. He'd normally be able to tell for certain, but he felt pretty sure he was dying, so his thoughts were a bit jumbled at the moment. Finally, gratefully, the world faded and he slipped into unconsciousness.

When he next opened his eyes, his arms were still in shackles. He was still bleeding, the crimson drops plopping onto the stone floor with maddening regularity. The only difference was that they'd finally left him alone. In peace. To die, or go mad, or panic. Yes, panic seemed the likeliest result at the moment, his hearts going wild in his chest as suddenly he was tugging, trying to pull his arms free, desperate to escape. He was panicking, all right, tearing the wounds on his back so that the rivers ran anew, leaving him soaked in his own blood. But he couldn't stop. He was whimpering, then screaming, then begging to be let out. Begging for Fitz, for anyone. Just for any little bit of humanity's kinder side. He knew it was there, it shone through in the people he cared about. Yet the Doctor never allowed himself to forget that they were capable of such unspeakable horrors, so he wasn't surprised. He wasn't even disappointed. He was simply in pain, and desperate for it to stop.

The Doctor lost track of time, and not in a good way.

He wanted to give up, simply slip away into that comforting darkness once and for all, but he kept thinking of Fitz, probably out of his mind with worry. Searching for him. If he could only hold on long enough. If he allowed himself to hope, to focus on breathing in and breathing out, trying his best to ignore the painful heaviness that tore through him with every agonizing breath.

Dreams haunted him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He saw a man in black, with a skull for a face, who offered to free him in exchange for something he held dear. He could never be sure how he answered.

He dreamed of dancing on a beach, with a woman dressed in blue whose smile was filled with stars. And instead of water, the endless possibilities of all of space and time lapped against their feet. She told him terrible things he thankfully forgot immediately afterwards.

But most of all he dreamed of pain. Once in a while he thought the guards might have returned to hurt him some more. To ask questions he didn't have answers for.

So when he heard the footsteps from behind he tensed. Or tried to, at least. He didn't really have the strength to do more than twitch feebly.

Familiar arms held him up, while someone picked the locks on the manacles. He slumped into Fitz's arms with relief.

"You came back to me," the Doctor whispered.

"Course I did," Fitz said, his smile wide, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight pouring from the crack in the roof.

Giac caught the Doctor as he tried to stumble forward.

The Doctor giggled, giddy with relief, on the verge of slipping into a coma, and cupped Giac's face with a bloody palm.

"I owe you a chicken," he said with a shaky grin, then promptly collapsed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Wanderers Through the Fifth Dimension**

* * *

They carried him over the threshold, to the safety of the TARDIS. Fitz left the Doctor with Rocco and Giac, dashing ahead to close the door and turn on the scanner. The guards ran past, didn't even seem to notice the blue box tucked neatly under the bridge.

Fitz shuddered with relief, then glanced back at the Doctor. Two days. It had taken them two entire days to rescue the Doctor, and it had taken all of Rocco and Giac's underworld and high society contacts combined, along with all the money they could scrounge, steal, or con. Two days of the Doctor being tortured, the only suspect in a string of brutal murders. And it was all Fitz's fault.

Things looked very grim. The Doctor had been stripped to his slacks, which now hung in tatters. His back, his chest, everywhere, seemed cut, torn, and bruised. A wicked gash sliced across his side to the middle of his back. A bite, maybe? It was so deep, Fitz had the desperate urge to place his hands against it, to keep everything in.

And his back was such a mess. Fitz couldn't even look. Not yet. Rocco and Giac were covered in the Doctor's blood. They seemed so worried, hadn't even really realized where they were yet.

He led them to the medical bay, and they laid the Doctor on his stomach. He was hot to the touch, hotter than anyone Fitz had ever felt. He still refused to examine anything too closely.

Instead, he turned to Giac and Rocco, keeping his voice calm somehow. "He'll make it. I've seen him live through worse."

He had to get them out, get them away, because he was about to completely freak out and he'd rather be alone for that.

They were starting to figure out that something was very strange. He could see it in their eyes. The worry being surpassed by sudden curiosity. Fitz was definitely not in any mind to answer questions.

He led them back outside, ignoring their exclamations, their suddenly excited, frightened queries about how this place could possibly be so much bigger on the inside. Normally he loved showing off how nonchalant he was about the whole traveling through time and space thing, but right now his one and only focus was on getting back to the Doctor.

Once outside, he hugged both of them at the same time. "Thank you," he said very sincerely. "He'd be dead without your help."

"Who are you?" Rocco asked, staring past the open door, to the vast gothic interior of the TARDIS.

"'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,'" Fitz replied.

"And you two are creatures of heaven, are you?" Giac mused. "Truly angels?"

"Naw, mate. We're just wanderers through the fifth dimension."

And before they could say another word, Fitz had stepped back inside and closed the door. He could see them staring up from the scanner.

Fitz turned it off, leaned against the console, his breathing suddenly rapid. Collapsing just a little bit, he pressed his head against the central column, felt the comforting hum of the TARDIS.

"It's pretty bad, love. I know."

He sighed. Compassion would know what to do, she always did. Stroppy and terrifying though she might be, she was wicked smart and deadly in a fight. Whereas he was more of a weak, petty, coward who barely understood half of what the hell was going on most of the time.

So Fitz had that going for him. Fab.

"Help me," he whispered. "Please."

Then he rushed back to the medical bay, where the Doctor lay unconscious, barely breathing, checking his faint, thready pulse, like his hearts could fail at any moment. And then Fitz finally did break down, weeping, struggling to hold back the massive panic that left him wanting to hide away from all of these consequences.

But he didn't. Of course he didn't. He washed his hands in the sink, took some clean, neatly folded towels and filled a basin with warm water. He removed the Doctor's ruined clothes and carefully, tenderly, cleaned away the blood and filth. The Doctor was an absolute mess. Limp in his arms, utter dead weight. Not even reacting when he cleaned his injuries, switching to cotton and disinfectant pads.

Twice he fell to his knees, wanting to retch, holding his sides as he dry heaved, sickened to see the Doctor, his beautiful Doctor, so very damaged. By humans. Not monsters, not bug-eyed alien freaks intent on world domination. But simple human beings, the bloody royal guards, for Christ's sake. The very species he and the Doctor had saved from destruction so many times.

His species.

Fitz carefully sterilized the wounds, terrified at the pink, inflamed, infected flesh surrounding the bite on his side and three ragged tears where the whip had shredded the smooth flesh of his back all the way to the bone. The terrifying flash of white glistening within the wounds made him sick to his stomach.

Once the Doctor was clean, things looked even worse. His face seemed broken, swollen from repeated beatings, his chest and stomach a mess of bruises. And his back... That beautiful back he had stroked and massaged and ran his tongue over, covered with kisses. That creamy, soft skin he loved to trail with his rough fingertips on long, luxurious mornings when they'd stayed in bed for hours simply exploring each other. With all the blood wiped clean, all he could see were the gashes in that once perfect body. Because even if he healed, even if the Doctor somehow survived, there would be scars. He could tell. He'd seen enough of the Doctor's injuries to know which ones would leave marks, and the three deepest gashes, infected and cutting through so many layers of muscle, they looked permanent. At least until he regenerated. And that seemed a distinct possibility. It terrified him that the Doctor might be forced to regenerate because of Fitz, of wasting one of his lives and dying, reborn as another man. Maybe one who wouldn't care for Fitz as much anymore.

With shaking hands, he ran the handheld med scanner over the Doctor's body, wincing as he read the results. Broken nose, shattered cheekbone, fractured ribs. Massive blood loss. And he'd been poisoned, probably by the creature, an exotic blend of toxins the scanner could only partially identify. Possibly even worse, with the venom messing up his immune system, his wounds had become deeply infected.

Fitz had seen the Doctor in these sorts of healing comas before, but never like this. The color had sapped from his skin completely, so he looked beyond pale, almost grey. His skin remained tight and hot, that sickening dry heat that felt so unnatural when a fever just wouldn't break.

Searching throughout the cabinets, he found a hyposhot labeled antivenin in precise blue writing. There were immune booster patches, and painkillers. And surgical adhesives, bandages, the dermal regenerator. The TARDIS had left him verything he needed, really.

"Thanks, love," he muttered gratefully.

A very long time later, Fitz sat at the Doctor's bedside, wearing jeans and a grubby black shirt he'd picked up from the floor when he'd gone back to his room to grab the guitar.

Curled up beside the Doctor, Fitz played Wild Is the Wind and tried not to remember. The first couple days had been the worst. Touch and go, really. Fitz terrified, trying to muddle through. On the edge of panic. Never knowing if the Doctor would ever wake up. Until finally the fever broke. The Doctor began to heal. But it would take time.

So Fitz played to help it go by.

Since he'd woken up in the chair at the Doctor's bedside, neck stiff and painful from who knew how many days in the same position, Fitz had already played Blackbird, You Broke My Heart, Endlessly, The Crystal Ship, Lovesong, San Tropez, and was about to play Creep.

The Doctor had been laying on his side. He turned onto his back, and made a little whimpering sound. Fitz sat down on the bed, stroked the Doctor's face. He leaned into Fitz's touch for a moment, eyes fluttering.

Then the Doctor grew still once more. He didn't stir again for a very long time.

In the meantime, Fitz wrote a new song. About Venice.

* * *

It felt so warm where he was. All wrapped up in the dark. No sensations, save for a few, brief snatches of music, maybe the occasional flickering awareness of rough fingers caressing his skin. Nothing to worry about. No dreams, but no nightmares. Fine by him.

Didn't last, of course. Nothing ever did.

It hurt, at first. But not as much as he expected. This was more of a general ache, with a few flaring stripes of pain across his side and back. Not bad, considering.

He opened his eyes and Fitz gave him a weak smile, full of relief. "You saved me," the Doctor said, in awe of the mundane surroundings, of finding himself safe and sound under cool, clean sheets.

The Doctor tried to sit up, hissed in pain, couldn't quite manage it on his own. Fitz helped him, then held him, refusing to let go. Clutching the Doctor.

"It's my fault," Fitz said miserably.

"That's not true," he said.

The Doctor managed to scoot over a bit, pulling Fitz into the narrow bed with him. Fitz curled up against him.

"I shouldn't have left you," Fitz muttered against his chest. "Never should have let you go off by yourself."

"Nonsense. I go off by myself all the time. And if you hadn't left when you did, we'd both have been caught. Who would have rescued me then, hm?"

The Doctor kept his voice cool and rational, hoping to calm him. It wasn't working. If anything, Fitz grew more upset.

"You asked me to help you and I told you to sod off," Fitz cried. "Compassion wouldn't have done that. She wouldn't have left you."

The Doctor laughed bitterly. "You can't honestly believe that. Compassion? She's actually left me imprisoned to fend for myself after I specifically begged her not to go."

But Fitz was inconsolable. "She wouldn't have let you get caught in the first place, not her. She would have fought back. Would have won. I'm so bloody worthless, Doctor, I know it."

"Fitz, Fitz, Fitz, I told you to run because I knew you'd come back for me," the Doctor murmured softly, running a hand through Fitz's tangled hair. "You always come back to me, Fitz. I trust you completely."

"Yeah, well, I don't trust myself."

"Oh, Fitz..." the Doctor began, but trailed off, unsure of what to say, running his hands absently over Fitz's back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.

"We have to go back for her," Fitz said.

The Doctor froze.

"This wouldn't have happened if Compassion had been here," Fitz said, his voice steady as he began to pull away from the Doctor's embrace. "It's time, Doctor. Time to bring her back."

How he wished Fitz would take those words back. But he was looking at the Doctor with grey eyes full of resolve. A decision made that he wouldn't back away from without a fight.

Because how could he know? How could Fitz begin to understand the nature of a Time Lord's innate sense of future possibilities? The moment he had dropped Compassion off, it was as though the tangle of grim future timelines that had been lying in wait since the Faction first entered his life had solidified into a single knot. One he couldn't unravel, couldn't predict, couldn't think his way out of. The moment he went back for Compassion, their little honeymoon would be over. The consequences he had been running from for so long would start to surface. Everything would change.

That terrified him. And yet... Maybe Fitz was right. Not in the way he thought, of course, not about being useless or needing Compassion to somehow keep them safe. But about it being time to bring her back. To face those consequences, to stop running, impotent and scared of a future he couldn't control. Because as much as it frightened him to attempt to struggle against the devastating chaos he was certain lay ahead for them, he didn't trust anyone else to deal with the tangled consequences of his mistakes.

He held Fitz, and this time it was his turn to clutch his best friend tightly. "You're wrong, Fitz. You're not useless. I think you're one of the bravest men I've ever known. And you've shown me more loyalty than I deserve."

"Doctor..."

The Doctor sighed, a long, exhausted sound, weary and full of dread. "All right, Fitz. All right. We'll go back for her. And face whatever happens next. Together."

* * *

Those two just always make my heart melt. Stay tuned for a really touching epilogue with a few guest stars. I'm happier with this epilogue than almost any other thing I've ever written.

And I bet you were curious about those songs Fitz played the Doctor? Here's a list:

Wild Is the Wind: David Bowie, Station to Station  
Blackbird: The Beatles, The White Album  
You Broke My Heart: A Fitz Fortune original from EarthWorld  
Endlessly: Muse, Absolution  
The Crystal Ship: The Doors, from their self-titled debut  
Lovesong: The Cure, Disintegration  
San Tropez: Pink Floyd, Meddle  
Creep: Radiohead, Pablo Honey


	7. Epilogue: Histoire de Ma Vie

**Epilogue: Histoire de Ma Vie**

* * *

• Unpublished section from Histoire de Ma Vie by Giacomo Casanova; Fire-damaged lost volume partially recovered and restored by Dr. River Song

CHAPTER XVII  
A Terrible Beast–Unexpected Passion–Angelic Visitations–Becoming a Fiddler

–Unrecoverable Text–

... so I shall not forget. That was a night as I never could have imagined. From the first moment I laid eyes upon them, I became truly enraptured as if in a trance. For these were not men as I had ever known them, not as us mortals who tread upon the ground.

Somehow, I inveigled them into accompanying me for an evening. A casual affair, for I was quite unknown at that time, having only recently returned to Venice. But as angelic as their grace and countenance suggested, they had a penchant for the lower pleasures. Drinking, gambling, and public opera houses seemed to delight them. F. K— even seemed to have acquired the idle rich habit of smoking tobacco cigarillos, in the Spanish style. Yet it was obvious these were good men, despite the many temptations they led me to.

Things began quite pleasantly as we enjoyed an evening's performance of a mediocre opera. But their delightful company more than made up for the tedious script. Afterwards, we joined with friends to celebrate into the small hours of the night. My manservant and I quite enjoyed playing endless rounds of faro with D— to lovely music while letting ourselves become quite inebriated.

However, the evening turned grim, as we found the consequences of a brutal attack by a terrible beast, a demon that had been plaguing fair Venice for many months hence. And as a reward for felling the monster, they suffered so terribly.

D— and F. K— knew death, and madness, and understood things I hadn't thought to question. Even in the face of horror, D— and F. K— shared quick words, wit, and true affection. At first I could not understand it, but as D— explained, they were wanderers who had seen "more death than I could possibly imagine."

These were not idle words, I could sense it in their eyes...

–Unrecoverable Text-

...introduced me to new and unexpected delights. I have loved many men, valued them as highly as any woman, which is the ultimate compliment I could pay. Yet never before then had I lain with one as a lover. Though I will admit to having passing fancies, never before had a gentleman stirred my heart as D— did. As even the memory of him still does.

He was truly an angel. Beautiful in form, physical perfection wrapped around a wise soul that retained a childish sense of joy which proved contagious to anyone in his presence. Slender, delicate, with blue-green eyes of a most peculiar shade, always quite deep with meaning, and a wide, generous mouth that seemed ever-wistful, except when transformed into a brilliant smile. And possessing of a velvet, feminine, grace, neither Lord nor Lady, but if possible both wrapped in one. He had smooth, pale skin, as soft as any woman. Perhaps softer, even. Yet almost inhumanely cold to the touch. Not a creature of this Earth, not like any angel I could have ever imagined. I am unashamed to admit I desperately lusted after such an incredibly mysterious, ethereal beauty, for I have found few since of either gender who has moved me in such a manner.

His companion F. K—, in contrast, was a mystery of quite another sort. A gentle soul, loyal and charming, possessing a quite ribald wit and zest for sensation and Earthly delights that D— could not match. A man, truly human as you or I, from his calloused hands to the stubble on his cheeks. Yet touched by the grace of an angel to become something far more than I could ever aspire to be. I loved him, truly, as much as I have ever loved another soul, and yet underneath it all I am ashamed to admit my bitter envy. For here was a man who had seduced an angel from the heavens, and could with his passionate touch reduce him to a whimpering harlot, begging for more.

That evening we shared, the three of us lost in lust, exploring each other, they taught me more about the art of making love than any others before or since. For D— had powers beyond any mystic I have yet to encounter, the ability to share pleasure, as one would a piece of music, so that the sensations F. K— and I enjoyed would be spread all around, entangled in his vast, unearthly mind until the three of us were as one.

We spent our passions until the first rays of sunlight crept through the window, and I realized F. K— had fallen into a deep sleep, a tiny smile playing across his lips. And to my shame, despite everything F. K— had so generously shared with me, I felt again that bitter stab of envy. Because beside him D— lay watching him fondly, and I knew they had spent many, many nights in such a manner. Theirs was a rare love, and even I, who have made a cuckold of countless husbands and wives, felt loathe to break their spell.

Yet I did attempt it. As blameless, trusting F. K— slept on peacefully, I seduced D— as I had so many others before him, with sly words, tender caresses, even pleading whispers in his ear. Because I wanted to make him mine, even if only for a few brief moments. I wanted to drive all thoughts of dear F. K— from his mind. And when he finally lay under me, held down by my hands at his narrow wrists, eyes closed, muttering my name into the bed sheets again and again as I took him from behind, I knew I had succeeded.

Often afterward I wondered to myself why God had punished them for my sins, instead of myself. But then I look upon my own long life, and all that has befallen me, to my own incarceration and exile, to all that I have lost, and perhaps I think the punishment was spread to all three...

-Unrecoverable Text–

...the most preposterous occurrence. Even now, I can hardly believe it actually happened. As I return to writing these endless memoirs that have taken up my life in these final years, I am shaken beyond words, beyond description.  
The great sound was like nothing I've ever heard, a strange roaring, moaning, accompanied by a gust of wind that blew my papers all about despite the windows tightly sealed against the bitter winter chill.

And there it was. The blue box that had once haunted my dreams. For decades afterward I searched for it, expecting to see it out of the corner of my eye at any time. Once or twice I thought I had, but always it had gone before I could reach it. I had begun to think the impossible home shared by D— and F. K— had been but a fantasy, a delusion. My manservant, God rest his poor, loyal soul, had forever afterwards refused to discuss it with me, being half-convinced D— and F. K— were not angels at all, but demons with ungodly powers.

Perhaps he was right. Because from within that familiar blue box came nothing less than a ghost of myself.  
I gasped, frightened beyond all measure at seeing myself as a young man step out of that mystical place. He wore an expression of weary resignation, one I had become so accustomed to seeing in my own mirror since I passed middle age.

Lost, and tired.

"Hello, Giac," he said, stepping further into the study.

"Did you steal my spirit?" I asked breathlessly, backing away. "Have you come to replace me?"

He laughed, then winced at the effort, hissing in pain.

"D—?"

He gave me a weak smile, and tucked his hands in the pocket of his strange, tight, striped suit.

"What..." I began, then I noticed his eyes. Brown, instead of blue, but just as wide and expressive. As romantic as mine have always been, even now as a broken recluse living off the kindness borne from a memory of the charm I once possessed. Yet they reminded me of my own eyes when I looked upon the mirror now, so very old, full of regret, and loss, and near the end.

All my questions died on my lips.

"You're not well," I told him instead.

"No, not really," he agreed...

–Unrecoverable Text–

...back upon the history of my misdeeds. He read them long ago, for him, he had claimed. How could I but believe him? One who can change faces, who has knowledge of future and past yet seems untouched by the passage of time, in the physical if not in the spiritual? One so close to death, unsure whether to allow himself to be reborn, or to finally end it all? What had he sacrificed? What punishments had the universe laid upon his thin shoulders? I do not know, for I was too afraid to ask.

Reading my own words, I grow ashamed for my own motivations, on so many levels, on too many countless occasions. A weak, if clever, pervert, as I'll be remembered, if at all. Their opinions matter little to me by now.

Except his does. I stare at the crackling fireplace...

–Unrecoverable Text–

* * *

The inspiration for this writing style comes directly from Histoire de Ma Vie (Story of my Life) by Giacoma Casanova, a 12 volume series of memoirs he wrote towards the end of his life. It's absolutely lovely, and charming, and you honestly can't help but fall in love with him just a little bit.

For some reason it made me incredibly happy to write this epilogue in this historical sort of writing style.

Next story in the Fitzverse takes place much later in the adventures of Eight and Fitz, a short, introspective tale in the aftermath of the first Time War, which would forever change the dynamic of their relationship. But after that, we start a whole new arc with Fitz, the Eleventh Doctor, River Song, and Captain Jack! Stay tuned.


End file.
